


you're trying my patience (try pink carnations)

by hyruling



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: First Kiss, Jealousy, M/M, Sappy, Secret Admirer, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, stan is judging from the corner u just cant see him, the other losers are there in spirit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22707907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyruling/pseuds/hyruling
Summary: “Oh shit?” Richie says, flashing a grin at Eddie.Eddie has redirected his murderous stare at the pink and red carnations, sitting innocent and pretty on the desk, and Richie almost laughs at how pissed he looks.“You gottwo?” Eddie says heatedly.Richie shrugs. “Animal magnetism baby.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 47
Kudos: 646





	you're trying my patience (try pink carnations)

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'forget the flowers' by wilco, a song i have never heard in my life and only found by googling songs with the word 'carnation' in them. 
> 
> happy valentine's day :) enjoy this silly tooth rotting idiocy

Richie is restless.

He’s only thirty minutes into world history class, and no matter how many times he checks the clock it doesn’t seem to be moving any faster. It’s been 9:30 for fifteen minutes. 

His mind won't stop racing, his leg is bouncing incessantly, and he can’t stop clicking his pen, much to the chagrin of everyone seated around him. The kinetic energy crawls under his skin, electric and itchy and begging for an outlet. He finished the reading ten minutes ago, and the assignment they’re meant to be working on was laughably easy. He was done with the period by 9:13. 

And it is still nine-fucking-thirty.

Bill, sitting next to him, is ignoring him like the goody goody two shoes he is. Eddie is on his right, glaring at his textbook so intensely he wouldn’t be surprised if it spontaneously caught on fire. 

“Eds. Hey, pssst.” 

Eddie glances over briefly and shakes his head. Mr. Hamilton is engrossed in grading their midterms, so he tries again. 

“ _Eddie._ Wanna play hangman?”

“Shut up Trashmouth,” Eddie hisses out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes are flying across the page, eyebrows furrowed unhappily. 

“Come on _,_ Eds. I'm _bored."_

 _“_ This assignment is worth fifty points, fuck off,” Eddie snaps again, eyes never leaving the book. 

Richie sighs, rips a blank page from his notebook dramatically, and draws it anyway. He thinks for a second and carefully draws thirteen spaces before passing it to Eddie’s desk. 

Eddie looks at it as though Richie handed him a flaming bag of dog shit. “Richie, I fucking _said—“_

“Just guess!” 

Eddie growls and writes an _E_ in the guess box. 

“Ooh nice one Eds,” Richie says, reaching his long arm across the space between their desks and fills in the blanks. 

_ E _ _ _ _ _ E _ _ _ _ E ? 

“Okay, again.”

“Richie, I need to concentrate, will you please—“

“Here, I’ll help.”

Richie fills in _A_ , _L_ , _V_ and _B_. 

B E _ _ V A L E _ _ _ _ E ?

He points emphatically to the paper, waggling his eyebrows. Eddie doesn’t even look. 

“Come on, I filled in the hard one for you. Sound it out.” 

“W-what are you guys doing?” Bill whispers from the other side of his desk. 

“Eddie won’t play with me,” Richie whines. He glances behind him to see Bill shake his head and turn back to his own assignment. 

"Okay, hang on I'll give you a hint." 

Eddie just shoots an unimpressed glare over his shoulder when Richie takes the note back. He adds another blank and doodles a bumblebee in the corner. 

Eddie frowns at it when he passes it back. 

B E E _ _ V A L E _ _ _ _ E ?

"How the fuck is that a hint? And why is he already hanging?" 

"Because you won't play and he's _sad._ You're killing him." 

“Richie, I’m not playing this fucking game right now—“

He’s interrupted by a sharp knock. Mr. Hamilton glances up, looking extremely put out, and calls, “Come in.”

Ben walks in, followed by Lacie Williams pushing a cart full of flowers, and grins at Richie, Eddie, and Bill. 

“Carnation delivery,” Ben explains to Mr. Hamilton, holding up the stack of cards in his hand. 

Mr. Hamilton rolls his eyes and waves his hand dismissively. 

Eddie taps his arm urgently, apparently losing interest in what was once the most important assignment of his life. “Did you buy one?” he asks Richie, eyes wide.

Richie snorts. “No. Haystack was asking for _three_ dollars, I’m not made of money.” 

In truth, Richie had planned on buying one this year, if only to support Ben's new role in student council. According to Haystack all of the money would be put into repainting the library, or some boring shit like that. But there was only one person he really _wanted_ to buy a carnation for, and he didn’t think he could afford to mask it by sending one to all of his other friends. As the deadline drew closer he panicked, overthought the whole thing, and spent all of his money at the arcade to force the decision out of his hands. 

Richie watches Ben lay six carnations on Bill’s desk along with the matching cards and wolf whistles loudly. 

“Damn Denbrough, you _horn_ dog. Been sluttin’ it up all over school—”

“Mr. Tozier,” Mr. Hamilton says sharply, tinge of exasperation in his voice. 

“Sorry teach,” Richie says, raising an eyebrow at Bill’s crimson face. 

“They’re just from f-friends,” Bill explains, touching the bright red petals gently.

“If that’s what you wanna call your flock of consorts, Big Bill.”

Ben and Lacie continue to hand flowers out. Richie glances back at Eddie, bored, intending to pester him into continuing the hangman game. Eddie is staring straight ahead at the chalkboard, spots of color high on his cheeks. 

“Hey. You guessed it yet?” Richie says, tapping the paper still on his desk. 

“What?” Eddie asks distractedly, not making direct eye contact. He’s suddenly engrossed in his textbook again, despite the fact that the rest of the class has fully abandoned the assignment to watch the carnation delivery or chat amongst themselves. 

“The game! Pull your head out Spaghetti Man! We're in the homestretch now cutie, focus!”

Eddie just shakes his head tightly. Ben appears before he can push it, customary big and lovable grin stretching across his face, and drops two flowers on Richie’s desk. 

“Look at you Richie! Nice,” Ben says cheerfully, fishing through the box for the matching cards. 

“Oh shit?” Richie says, flashing a grin at Eddie. 

Eddie has redirected his murderous stare at the pink and red carnations, sitting innocent and pretty on the desk, and Richie almost laughs at how pissed he looks. 

"You got _two_?" Eddie says heatedly. 

Richie shrugs. “Animal magnetism baby.” 

“Let me see that,” Eddie snaps, snatching the cards out of Ben’s hand before he can give them to Richie. 

“Hey! What the fuck shortstack—”  
  
“ _Language,_ Mr. Tozier.” 

“Sorry!” Richie calls over his shoulder while Eddie pores over the writing in the cards. 

Ben slips away with an awkward cough to finish his task. Eddie’s face slowly turns stony and beet red. 

“Jesus, did someone write a softcore porno for me or something?” Richie asks, moderating his voice so he doesn't get told off again. “What’s going on with your face?” 

“Nothing, asshole,” Eddie snaps. He hands the cards over without looking at him. 

“Who’re they from?” 

“Becky Winters,” Eddie says sourly, and okay, now it makes sense. Eddie _hates_ Becky. It's a new development; he used to be ambivalent about her, but that changed abruptly this year when she tried cozying up to Richie in biology and asked him to be her lab partner instead of Eddie’s. Richie had said no, of course, but that didn’t stop her from worming her way into their conversations everyday, and Richie may be blind but he’s not _blind._ He sees the way she looks at him, and Eddie has reached the point where he can barely contain his resentment. Last week he’d spilled an entire beaker of hydrogen peroxide on her new Converses, claiming it was an accident, but the self satisfied smirk on his face told Richie everything he needed to know. 

“Dude, come one, it’s not what it looks like,” Richie says with a laugh. “‘Happy Valentine’s Day Richie! We go together like cytosine and guanine - haha!’” he quotes. 

Eddie stares, unamused, and it makes Richie laugh harder. 

“You’re seriously gonna pop a blood vessel Spaghetti.”

“She _likes_ you,” Eddie spits, face screwed up the same way it had when Richie dared him to eat the contents of their petri dish from bio. 

“Can you blame her?” Richie asks, winking and gesturing grandly to his dirty ACDC tee and three day old jeans. Eddie doesn't need to know exactly how little he cares about Becky’s crush on him. He doesn't seem to suspect anything, but his palms start sweating anyway. “And she’s not the only one who wants a taste of the Trashmouth, who’s this little love note from?” 

“It’s anonymous,” Eddie grouses, going back to the assignment with his chin in his hands. 

Richie opens the card. It’s ambiguous as fuck, nothing but a generic “Happy Valentines Day Richie.” There's no signature, no personality, not even a fucking exclamation point. 

Richie is just about to turn and speculate with Eddie, or maybe Bill, who’s been engrossed in his own notes and uninterested in Richie’s newfound admirers. Just as he opens his mouth, Mr. Hamilton kicks Ben and Lacie out and snaps at them all to get back to work. 

When class ends, Eddie is out of his seat and barreling towards his locker before Richie’s even finished packing up his books. He raises an eyebrow at Bill, who just shrugs and gathers his own things, including his literal bouquet of Valentines, and lets Richie give him shit about his many lovers all the way to English. 

* * *

Richie doesn’t see Eddie again until seventh period bio. He'd skipped lunch, and none of the other losers shared a class with him throughout the rest of the afternoon. Richie spends the hours between history and bio analyzing the entire interaction and telling himself not to worry.

It doesn't work. 

Eddie is at their lab table when he walks in, hunched over the textbook. Richie unclenches slightly, relief sweeping it's way through his chest at the sight of his pinched face. He drops his bag on the table with a loud bang when he reaches it and Eddie jumps. 

“Jesus, Richie,” he swears, hand on his chest. 

Richie unceremoniously presses his palm to Eddie’s forehead. “Are you sick?” 

“What, no, get your disgusting— you’re not even _doing_ it right!” 

Eddie twists Richie’s hand until the top of it is pressed to his forehead rather than his palm and then just. Leaves his hand there, curled around Richie’s wrist. His pulse flutters; he wonders if Eddie can feel it. 

“Okay, not sick. Where were you at lunch?” Richie demands, pulling his hand back and reclining in his chair, trying hard to seem casual. It doesn’t feel very convincing. 

“I had to work on my term paper,” Eddie says to his hands. He’s carefully writing his name and today’s date at the top of his paper, and Richie has copied off of him enough times to know that he never dates his notes. 

“And you couldn’t work on it in the cafeteria?” 

Eddie scoffs. “And have you flinging mashed potatoes at me every five seconds? No, don’t think so.”

“That was _once._ And today was taco day anyway.” 

Richie grins, but Eddie still refuses to look at him. 

“Are you mad at me?” Richie asks. 

“No,” Eddie says in that petulant tone that means he’s definitely mad at Richie. 

“Eds, what the fuck. What did I do?” 

“I said _no_.” 

“Yeah, but you’re lying. Tell me—”  
  
“Hey Richie!”

They both look up at the interruption — Becky Winters is standing at their table, holding her books and blushing profusely. 

“Hey Becks,” Richie says, keeping his voice carefully neutral. 

He can actually _feel_ Eddie’s eye roll next to him, and hears him _tsk_ softly under his breath. He forces himself to keep looking at Becky. 

“Um, happy Valentine’s Day,” she says in a rush. She smiles bashfully and skips off to her table before Richie can respond, giggling with her partner Michelle the second she sits down. 

Eddie is glaring at her when he looks over. He eyes the carnations Richie hastily dropped on the table earlier, not knowing what else to do with them, before focusing back on his notes.

“Holy shit, Eds, are you jealous?” Richie asks, voice breathier than he intended. He plays it off as a laugh. 

Eddie’s head swivels, mouth parted furiously. “Of _what_? Some shitty cheap flowers that are gonna make you sneeze anyway?” 

“Carnations are hypoallergenic Eds.” 

“Fuck off. I’m _not_ jealous.”

“Bullshit, yes you are. You’ve been bitchy since history, why else would you be so pissed?” Richie says, gesticulating randomly. 

Eddie’s flushes red all the way down the collar of his white polo. “You’re an _idiot_ Richie.” 

The bell rings, echoing the ringing in Richie’s ears, and their teacher stands from their desk to begin class. Eddie immediately focuses on her, and Richie can practically see the invisible wall shoot up between them, a clear _fuck you_ to Richie and his fucking carnations. 

Richie zones out during the lecture, eyes flicking between Eddie’s face and the stupid flowers. Eddie’s hostile expression melts into pinching unhappiness, frown lines replacing his usual dimples. 

He pulls his textbook into his lap, a habit every one of his teachers has some inexplicable issue with, and tugs the anonymous note out of his pocket (he threw Becky’s away hours ago). He studies it again, fingers tracing the letters and fiddling with the corners. Eddie is studiously taking notes and ignoring him; Richie sulks and studies the title that Eddie had so meticulously scrawled at the top of his notebook. 

_Eddie Kaspbrak | February 14, 1994 | Biology_

And suddenly, with a shock like a fork in a wall socket, he realizes what’s been nagging at him all day. 

Eddie writes his _y_ ’s the exact same way. 

His heart lurches, threatens to explode from his rib cage. He checks, and double checks, and triple checks, practically breathing down Eddie’s neck to compare the handwriting. 

“Fuck off, write your own notes,” Eddie hisses, rolling his shoulder back to push him away.   
  
Richie leans back heavily, and Jesus _fuck_ it’s hot in here. His cheeks are on fire, and he feels his heartbeat everywhere in his body at once. 

After a quick reevaluation of his entire worldview, which takes approximately five minutes, he digs in his bag for the crumpled piece of paper from six hours ago. His hands only shake a little as he fills in the blank, which he is immensely proud of. 

And then, thanking anyone listening that he and Eddie sit in the very back of the class, he slowly slides the hangman game across the table and onto Eddie’s notes. Before Eddie can protest he adds the carnation and holds his breath. 

Eddie stares, fingers curled around his pen and hovering midair over his notebook, and still Richie doesn’t dare breathe. Slowly Eddie turns his head, cheeks bright red and adorable, and stares at Richie with the widest eyes he's ever seen. 

No one notices the staring contest between them that lasts for the longest minute of Richie’s life. No one notices the soft smile that slowly spreads across Eddie’s face, or the way its mirrored on Richie’s when Eddie quietly picks up the flower with his left hand, reaching silently for Richie with his right. No one notices their fingers intertwine under the desk, or the way they sneak away to the parking lot the second the final bell rings. No one sees the way Richie presses a soft kiss to Eddie’s lips in the quiet warmth of his truck after he drives him home, or the folded up hangman game Eddie carries in his wallet for nearly thirty years, even after he forgets Richie’s name. 

  
B E E M Y V A L E N T I N E ?

* * *

Twenty-three years later, Eddie wakes up on the morning of the first Valentine’s Day since his divorce to a bed full of carnations and Richie’s beautiful, crooked grin. Richie kisses him the same way he did then, soft and tender with the sweet familiar scent of flowers in the air. 

Eddie holds his face in his hands and lets Richie press him into the mattress, brushing a dark curl behind his ear when they part. Richie noses at his neck and sighs happily. 

"Morning, Eddie my love." 

"Morning," Eddie says, pressing a kiss to Richie's temple. “These better not have fucking thorns, Richie.”

**Author's Note:**

> did anyone else's school do this bullshit? this caused me so much teenaged angst when i didn't get any carnations so now i'm living vicariously through these idiots
> 
> [tumblr xo](https://hyruling.tumblr.com/)


End file.
